


The Claiming

by SunriseAshes



Category: Beautiful Creatures, Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunriseAshes/pseuds/SunriseAshes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur Pendragon dreams of a strange boy, he rapidly finds himself falling in love with him. When the boy arrives in town, Arthur finds he is the only one curious to know more about the newcomer with the golden eyes. At first getting him to open up is the hard part, but as their relationship grows, so does the cost.</p><p>[Possible spoilers for series five of Merlin]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy in the Dream

 1. **The Boy in the Dream**  


**  
**There is a storm crackling overhead. Each flash of lightning is all-consuming, temporarily blinding any foolish enough to stand beneath its display of power. Arthur is here. He is being damned foolish, but he won't leave without _him_. The boy with the golden eyes. The boy that makes him question everything he ever believed in about his town, himself and his heritage. The boy in the worn-out Converse and mussy hair who hardly speaks. The boy at the epicentre of this storm. All Arthur truly knows is that he can't lose him.

He  _won't_ lose him.

Not this time.

So he runs, blindly, without any discernible direction, yet despite this he is making progress. He can feel it, deep down in his gut. He is getting nearer. He is almost upon his goal. This means that the storm is getting worse, debris and the like whirling around to form a mini-tornado of destruction. Arthur tries to ignore the broken branches, but the way they nearly impact with his head slows his progress down. 

" _Arthur_!"

The scream reverberates around his head, louder than the wind and the thunder. Arthur's heart leaps in his chest and his feet pick up, faster and faster until he is running. Somewhere out there  _he_ waits, desperate and vulnerabe. Arthur can't let anything happen to him. This instinct is as embedded in him as his bones. Time isn't on his side. When is it ever? The question of all heroes ever, Arthur supposes. 

Tick-tock, no time on the clock. 

Will he lose him?

Despair wraps around Arthur's throat, choking the breath out of him. Not this time. They won't fail this time. 

" _I'm here, Arthur_!"

A flash of gold and Arthur moves automatically. Hands clasp around one enough and the earth falls away from beneath their feet. Arthur holds on tightly, but the force of the wind is too much. It's pulling them apart. Arthur hears a heartwrenching cry and then silence as he is flung backwards. He sees the muddy ground far below, hurtles towards it --

\-- and awakens tangled in his bedsheets.

He breathes heavily, noticing for the first time that his hair is soaking wet, exactly as if he has been standing out in a storm. His hands are muddy too, and there are three shallow scratches on the top of his left hand where  _he_ , the boy, tried to hold on against the force of the wind. This is no ordinary dream, but nor is it the first time Arthur has dreamt it.

"Arthur Pendragon, get your backside downstairs now or you'll be late!"

It is all left behind as Arthur leaves his bed for a hot shower. The storm and the golden eyes. The fear and the mud. The faint scent of lemons and the eerie music.

This the real world, after all. Dull and predictable, with no destinies to fulfill.

This is Camelot, the town where nothing happens, and no matter how much Arthur wishes it, that won't change.


	2. The Pebble in the Pond

2.  **The Pebble in the Pond**

Breakfast is a simple affair of toast, bacon and black coffee. Arthur eats alone, his eyes glued to some crappy sitcom as he slowly grazes through his food. He should be used to it by now, the whole concept of his father locking himself away in his study, of Gaius rushing off to complete his early morning rounds, of the complete lack of his mother's presence, but he's not. Sure, he laughs it off with a shrug. _It's cool_ , he'll say,  _I can do whatever the Hell I want_. The reality is starker. He misses the company of others, misses being taken care off. What would his friends say in response to that? Arthur shudders at the thought.

The simple truth is this: Arthur is popular. Well loved. He inspires people and he never really figured out why, but his mother had the same effect on people, the same pull, so he guess he inherited it. He is athletic, tall, charismatic and has enough brains to get by on. He isn't the classroom clown (that's Gwaine), he isn't the knight in shining armour (that's Lance), he isn't the multi-sport hero (that's Percy), he isn't the calm one (that's Elyan) and he certainly isn't the organised one (that's Leon). No, what Arthur happens to be is a natural-born leader. For some reason people listen to him, whether he deserves their confidence or not.

This is his life. Sure, it's comfortable and he wears it well, but Arthur feels like there is something missing. Or  _someone_. A whole other life that exists out there, in the real world beyond the town borders. There are times when that feeling is more nostalgia than wistful, and Arthur can't figure out why, because he's never left Camelot, not even once, not even for a holiday. So why would he sometimes have flashes of  _otherness_ that happened miles from here, in another lifetime? All he knows is that one day he will get out, for real, and he'll have a whole world to explore and no expectations to uphold.

He'd like that.

Arthur grabs his messanger bag from under the table and drains the rest of his coffee. That future is still three years away and that means he still has to show up to school. It's not so bad, just dull, no matter how much his friends try to make it otherwise. Arthur needs  _more_.

The sound of a car horn breaks into his thoughts. The drawn-out honk alerts him to the fact that Gwaine is driving this morning. With a shake of his head, Arthur departs from the kitchen and makes his way to his rut, the familiar old routine.

"Pendragon, get your head outta the clouds," Gwaine declares as Arthur squeezes into the back between Percy and Leon. Lance is riding shotgun and could be gloating, but that isn't his way. Never is. Instead he rummages through Gwaine's terrible CD collection of obscure rock bands that no-one can find any background on, no matter how long they spend on Google.  _That's_ Gwaine's way. "New term, fresh meat," Gwaine continues.

"For you, maybe," Leon interjects.

"For us  _all_ ," Gwaine insists. "You gotta keep your ear to the ground, lads, or you'll miss out on all the cuties. This is your only chance to have the pick of the pool. The stock is high on day one. It'll only deplete as the year goes by. As representatives of the football squad, we have a standard to maintain. No way in Hell I'm letting the rugby boys get the jump on me."

"Let's be honest, Gwaine, a little girl in pigtails could get the jump on you. You're too busy checking yourself out," Percy drawls and laughter breaks out across the car. Gwaine grunts, but that discussion ends and another begins.

"I hear a new family moved into Avalon Manor," Leon says as a way of ending the silence, but all he does is create shock.

"Avalon Manor?"

"The Haunted House up by the lake?"

"Seriously, who'd buy that old dump?"

Squabbles and confusion spreads through the car, but all Arthur can think of is Gwaine's earlier words. _Fresh meat_. Except this isn't kids from the town moving up into upper school. This is a new family moving into town. Actual people who have actually lived outside of Camelot. Who have seen the world. People who could possibly break the rut that Arthur is trapped in. A spark of excitement runs across his skin, not that his friends notice. Nobody ever moves to Camelot. It's no wonder they're taken aback.

"Apparently," Leon continues once everybody simmers down. "One of them is a kid our age. They'll be starting today the same us everyone else."

"Dibs!" Gwaine shouts before anyone else can react. "If it's a chick, of course. I'm sure that Mr Macho back there will want first shot if it's a dude."

Percy snorts and shakes his head, while Lance speaks. "You can't call dibs or shotgun or anything on a _person_ Gwaine."

The school carpark loomed into view and the conversation ended abruptly.

"Gamefaces, men." Gwaine cut off the car engine. "Look cool. I know you find it hard to be regal, Arthur, but do it for the team."

"Jerk," Arthur retorts.

They slip out the car easily and walk as one towards the front door of the school. The new students gawp, their jaws slack as they take in the self-assured strides of the group. Arthur feels satisfied with the positive appraisal, until he notices one new student who isn't impressed. Not in the slightest. Arthur normally wouldn't care. No-one had ever called him an ass, not outright, but the looks from the debate club usually told him that's what they were thinking. This kid is thinking it too, probably, but it's his eyes that Arthur can't get over.

They are _gold_.

Molten gold, burning with an intensity that stops Arthur's heart dead in his chest for an eternity.

So familiar, like he's seen them somewhere before, a hundred times over, every day for years. Mostly they chill his blood because he dreams of them, and now they are here, in his school, staring at him in amusement.

Something collides with Arthur's back and sends him tumbling forwards. The spell breaks and the school bustle resumes. Arthur feels like a prat, not because he fell in front of his year group, but because the boy with the golden eyes is laughing at him. Full on laughter that transforms his face. Sunlight casts long shadows that deepen his cheekbones, his messy black hair becomes more ruffled and his eyes light up. The strange mixture of longing and fear that this apparition usually inspires swirls in Arthur's stomach. He shouldn't feel this way, but he does, so he copes the only way he knows how. _  
_

He flees.


	3. The Outsider

3. **The Outsider**

His name is Merlin Emrys. He is fifteen and an only child. He just moved here from some place a lot more exotic than Camelot. He is in at least half of Arthur's classes, which makes it hard to avoid him. Why Arthur needs to run from him, he doesn't know, he just does. He feels it deep down in his gut, like there is some secret behind those golden eyes that will shatter him into pieces that might never be reassembled in the same way. While this thrills Arthur, it mostly confuses him, because how can some guy he has seen a handful of times have such a completely profound affect on him? 

The truth lies behind those eyes. They make Arthur feel like he's just woken up from a thousand year slumber and he is seeing home for the first time. Or like his life was black and white, but now colour fills every outline, every shape and makes them feel like brand new sights. This is a little too out there for Arthur, a little too rom-com, chick-lit. He does the only thing he can. He ignores it.

"A dude," Gwaine says in a disappointed voice at lunchtime. They're sitting in the courtyard like they always do, enjoying the last days of summer before autumn hits. "Why oh why couldn't it be a tall, blond. A tall, tanned, blond who plays beach volleyball or something sexy and who has a thing for Irish football players who know how to use hair product. That would have been great."

"I didn't think you were the kind of guy to get put off by biological sex, Gwaine," Leon says lazily, barely looking up from this year's school council outline. "You usually take what you want and ignore any minor details that might get in your way."

"Yeah, minor details like whether or not your prey is equipped with a penis," Percy snorts. Gwaine leans over to shove Percy from his perch, but no matter how hard he tries, Percy barely budges. "Keep trying little man," Percy grins. Gwaine huffs and settles back.

"I think it's good that the newcomer is a guy," Elyan inputs in his typically subdued manner. "Stops you lot from fighting over him."

There is a mumur of agreement and Arthur wonders what they would say if they knew that the new boy was already haunting his thoughts, had been doing so long before he arrived at Camelot. He shakes his head. It doesn't bare thinking about. 

"He's a bit weird though, isn't he?" Gwaine muses. "Bit quiet and artsy. Did you see him carting that black book around like it was something precious? Absolute nutter if you ask me."

"You mean that because he isn't carrying around a football or some other manly object he isn't worth your time," Arthur snipes without thinking. All his friends stare at him with a mixture of surprise and horror, something he feels himself. "I mean, some guys are artsy," he quickly continues. "Doesn't make them weird. Maybe he does it to impress the girls. By writing poetry or music or something."

The stares fade and are replaced by serious expressions. "Would that work?" Gwaine asks.

"I think so. Just look at Lance. He's all sensitive and the ladies trail him like lost sheep," Leon remarks.

"Lance has a girlfriend," Gwaine shoots back.

"Doesn't stop the other girls from crushing on him," Elyan interjects.

"Lance has a girlfriend," Gwaine repeats. "That means if I step up to sensitivity, then his admirers will become Gwaine's admirers."

"I hate it when he refers to himself in third person," Leon sighs. Elyan and Percy nod in agreement.

"So you don't think the new guy is weird," Gwains says, suddenly picking up their old topic in order to make Arthur squirm again. It's a knack of his, one that Arthur lives in fear of. One that everyone lives in fear of, really. "Because I heard he tried to get out of P.E. so that he could take cookery or some other girly lesson."

"Music," Leon corrects. 

"See," Gwaine declares as though that settles the matter. "No sane man would be seen dead giving up time dedicated to sport for something soft like  _music_."

"I'd like to see you successfully play an instrument," Elyan says with a smirk.

"He probably does debating or politics in his spare time," Gwaine continues, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "And he lives in Avalon Manor. No-one has been up there since the old dude died. No-one was stupid enough to do it."

"Except you every Halloween," Arthur retorts. Gwaine shrugs, his expression saying  _that's the exception_ and  _at least I'm not living up there_ at the same time. "Look, it's hard enough being the new kid without some prats going around telling the school populace you're weird. Lay off him, alright."

"Woah, since when were you the defender of new kids. Isn't that usually Lance's role?" Gwaine asks in mock horror.

"Maybe he's rubbing off on me," Arthur replies. This earns him raucous laughter as his sexuality is debated. Arthur doesn't care. His sexuality is typically questioned around fifty times a day and so he lets the quips fly back and forth without giving them much attention. Instead he thinks about Merlin and Avalon Manor and how no-one ever goes up there, except, of course, for those who've been dared to. Why is it that the place remained empty for so long, when it contains so much grandour? How did Merlin end up moving into it? Why does Arthur care so much?

That last one buzzes around his brain on the way to P.E., the last period of the day. He doesn't know what to expect when he reaches the changing rooms, but there Merlin is, black book and all, clearly unable to swap his P.E. lesson with something more to his liking. Hardly surprising since P.E. is compulsory, but bonus points for trying. The poor kid is obviously unathletic, all skinny arms and legs that shoot off in all directions. A complete bean-pole next to the likes of Percy. The kid is going to get pummeled. The first lesson of the year is usually a dodgeball match.

Arthur's prediction is dead-on. The P.E. teacher is getting them to play dodgeball while he goes off to do something that isn't his job (typical) and this means that the lesson is pretty much going to be overseen by a bunch of hormone-driven idiots. Arthur included, because he usually gets really caught up in matches of any kind. He likes to win, but as he sees Merlin cowering in the corner, something comes over him and he decides to keep an eye on him, because arses like Cenred usually make sure the nerdier kids walk off with a dozen nasty bruises. 

It quickly becomes obvious five minutes into the match that Merlin is being targeted for more reasons that his inability to play sport or defend himself. There's something personal in the way every single person lobs a ball in his direction, even Arthur's friends. Arthur doesn't like it and when a nasty curveball thrown by Cenred himself accelerates towards Merlin's face, Arthur finds himself pulling Merlin behind his body without even thinking about it. The ball smacks him square in the face and the blood streaming from his nose marks the end of the game.

"Shit," Arthur mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose helplessly as his white polo shirt rapidly turns red. 

"Oh God, this is my fault. I'm so sorry."

He turns to find Merlin flitting about nervously. He is more mesmorising up close and something scratches at the back of Arthur's mind, a memory of some kind. It'll come to him, just not now, not when he is pissed that this boy in front of him is the reason his nose is bleeding.

"It was nothing," he says gruffly, his voice muffled. "I'll be fine."

They stare at each other for a long time and Merlin eventually manages to speak again, the tips of his ears turning red as he does. "Thank you."

"It was nothing," Arthur repeats, although he knows it was  _something_ , he just doesn't know what.

The awkward silence stretches on longer, until Merlin scurries away and Arthur remains, confliction storming through him.


End file.
